The Consulting Detective Jones
by SequoiaM
Summary: Sherlock finally meets his match, in one Scarlet Jones. Rated Teen for later implications.
1. Chapter 1: A new detective

Sherlock: The Consulting Detective Jones

'Excuse me; I'm here to see Lestrade?'

Sgt. Donavan looked down at the small brown haired woman.

'And you are here to do what exactly?' She said with all the venom of a snake.

'Does your mother know you're sleeping with a married man?'

Sally was stunned into silence, for almost a minute.

'Oh good lord…LESTRADE! One of your freaks has arrived!'

'I'm not a freak, I'm a consulting detective. And you still haven't answered my question. Though, I know the answer.' The woman smiled defiantly, as Lestrade grabbed her by the arm and dragged her towards the crime scene.

'I do wish you people wouldn't do that.'

'Do what?'

'Never mind.' Lestrade sighed. He wasn't quite sure what had compelled him to hire another consulting detective, but he felt it could be the death of him.

'Sherlock, John, I'd like you to meet Scarlet Jones, consulting detective.'

John shook her hand heartily, smiling, then realised what Lestrade had said.

'Lestrade…Sherlock is the only…'

'Prove it.' said the crouching Sherlock, who had failed to even so much as look at Scarlet.

'Excuse me?'

Sherlock stood, spun on his heels, and walked over to loom over her.

'Miss Jones, prove you are worthy of the title consulting detective. Analyse me.'

'Oh dear, how god-awfully boring, but, ho-hum. Let's entertain the sociopath shall we?'

She looked at his face for mere seconds, before smiling and chuckling to herself.

'Well, Mr Holmes, your body language says psychopath, but the way you speak says sociopath. You are looking at me, but not into my eyes, which suggests a tense relationship with a main female figure in your life. First guess wife, but, no wedding ring. Second guess, girlfriend, but, you live with Mr Watson here, so again, implausible. That leaves either a sister or your mother. It wouldn't be a sister, though you do have siblings, judging by the way you are trying not to say much to me. Any man with a sister would know that women love nothing more than a decent conversation. So we have mother issues. Not abusive, just overbearing, disapproving? Yes. That's it. Just not quite as good as your older brother, are you? You also like keeping human body parts in the fridge.'

Scarlet smiled, walked towards the body, but, before getting there said, over her shoulder, 'Oh, and Mr Holmes? When you experiment with melting nicotine patches into your tea, try not to spill so much on your knees, its quite unattractive.'

Watson let out a half laugh, then looked to Sherlock, to check if he was ok. He was smiling. Lestrade was not. He sensed what was coming next.

'Miss Jones?'

'Yes?'

'Is it my turn?'

She smirked. 'Be my guest.'

'I'm not going to bother explaining your sociopathic behaviour, as that's boring. You're unmarried, haven't been with someone in quite some time, your work gets in the way. But…ah. Your father died, two…no…three years ago, and you've avoided men since. You're looking for somewhere to live, low in rent, because, lets face it, this line of work pays very little. You already dislike Donavan over there, and you don't really know her. Smart lady. You observe well, perhaps too well, you're intelligent, you know nicotine when you see it, and…you are incredibly attracted to either me, or John.'

She froze.

'Pop quiz?' he queried.

'Bring it on.'

They were facing each other now, eyes locked, fierce and dark.

'I'll start.' Said Sherlock. 'What instrument do I play, and, how can you tell?'

'Yawn. Violin, because your left arm is slightly stretched, due to over use. And you have an overbearing mother, which immediately screams violin. Why am I here? And don't just say 'work'.'

'You…you are here…because…you enjoy it! I can see it in your eyes! You love the thrills, the chase, and the deduction. It's like your drug, along with the nicotine gum you chew. What do I keep on my mantelpiece?'

'A potted plant. In place of a human skull, which you used to talk to, before John arrived. Which one of you am I attracted to?'

'I'd say me, not only because we are so alike, but because I didn't immediately talk to you, which everyone does, but you hate. Why…'

He began another question, but before he had finished, Scarlet pressed her lips to his, and he put his hand behind her head, and the other round her waist. She knotted her fingers into his hair, and they were locked together for what seemed like eternity to Watson and Lestrade, who just stared, dumbfounded, at them. Scarlet was first to pull away, straightening her jacket and brushing her hair back behind her ear.

'Talk to the gardener, mention a lion, call me when another case comes up, I just solved your crime.' She smiled, put her hands in her pockets and walked back down the stony path.

'JONES! How did you get all that from kissing Sherlock?' asked Lestrade, but she wasn't listening.

'Sherlock? Are you…ok?' asked John, waving a hand in front of his distant face. He immediately snapped out of it, smiled and said, 'I'm fine. She's right, trust me. Call me in the morning.'

'Sherlock?'

'Yes John?'

'I think you may have just met your match.'


	2. Chapter 2: Confusion

Sherlock: The Consulting Detective Jones: Chapter 2

'How many patches?' sighed John, watching Sherlock intently from the armchair. In place of a reply, Sherlock, still with his eyes closed, rolled up his sleeve to reveal seven pale white nicotine patches up his arm.

'Sherlock! You can't need seven! You don't even have a case!'

'It must be so fun being as naive as you. I can't figure it...her out. She's...so infuriatingly...brilliant!' Sherlock stood up, screamed, and pulled Watson's pistol from his pocket. He aimed it at the wall.

'Sherlock, give me back my gun. Actually, how in hell did you get that?'

'Sarah. She doesn't like having it at the surgery.' He fired it at the wall, threw it to John, and fell backwards into his lying position. He closed his eyes once more, pressed his hands tightly together, and the room fell silent. And then, it all became clear to John. Sherlock having never experienced infatuation of any kind as a teenager, no lust, was having extreme difficulties coping with these kinds of emotions. This sudden revelation amused him, and he started to laugh.

'Oh Sherlock. Do you want to talk about it?'

'No. Go away John.'

'Tell me about it. You keep eyeballs in your fridge, I'm pretty sure you can handle a nice chat.'

'Fine.' Sherlock sat up, and looked witheringly at his companion. 'She's so...so...I don't know, she's just, different from all the other mindless women I know.'

'I see. What is it that you like about her.'

'I fail to see how this helps.'

'Just answer the question.'

'Ugh. You are such an irritating man, John. Fine. I like the way she walks, the way her hair hangs awkwardly, like she really doesn't care, but makes the effort to try. I like her eyes, normally from someones eyes I can tell their exact thoughts, but with hers, I can't. They're like a locked door, and I want to unlock it. And...John...she kissed me. Like a proper kiss, not just a friendly thing. Why the hell would she do that? What the hell is happening to me?'

'Firstly, friendly kissing? And secondly, it's quite simple. You are experiencing an extreme infatuation, like what the rest of us had to deal with at about 16.'

'The French, kiss, as a greeting.' Sherlock said, before staring intently at the floor.

John was about to reassure him this was normal, when Sherlock's phone rang. Sherlock said a series of short agreements, before hanging up.

'John, we have a new case.'

'Does that mean...will she...'

'YES! BRILLIANT!' shouted Sherlock, jumping about madly. John was sure he'd never seen his friend behave like this. But he was loving every second of this.


	3. Chapter 3: Childish

**Thanks for your lovely reviews, all very much appreciated :) 3rd Chapter for your pleasure.**

The Consulting Detective Jones: Chapter 3

'Sherlock! The day you answer the door, I'll eat my hat. Mr. Lestrade is here. And he's brought a lady.'

'Can you send them up Mrs. Hudson? I'm kind of busy!'

'Not your housekeeper dear...'

Sherlock sighed. 'John!'

'On it.' He watched as his companion opened the door to their flat, just as Lestrade flew in, closely followed by Scarlet.

'Sherlock, I...what on earth are you doing?' Lestrade, ready to fill the duo in on the latest case, was stopped in his tracks, by Sherlock, who was fiddling around with Watson's gun.

'Fixing the sticky safety catch. I nearly shot John in the hand earlier.'

'Right, if anyone asks, I don't know you have that. '

'It's John's.'

'That doesn't make it right.' Lestrade sighed, pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose, and sat down. 'Anyway, the reason I'm here is...'

'Sherlock, why is there a finger in the sugar?' asked John from the kitchen.

'Experiment. And I know why you're here, that robbery you mentioned on the phone...I'll need to see the cabinet.'

'Tomorrow. They're closing the exhibit off today...'

'Then why are you here, if I'm not needed until tomorrow?'

'I need someone to watch Scarlet.' Sherlock looked up from the rifle.

'I do not need babysitting Lestrade!' disputed Scarlet from the floor, where she was lying, staring at the ceiling.

'You punched Anderson!' Sherlock started to laugh, but Lestrade gave him a warning look. 'And...why are you lying on the floor?'

She sighed, as if the answer to his question was obvious. 'I'm thinking. And the nicotine is giving me a rush.'

'You shouldn't have eaten nine packets of nicotine gum then, should you?'

She stood up, and stared intently at him, eyebrows raised. She smirked, and looked momentarily at Sherlock, who burst out laughing.

'Don't analyse me Jones. I can see when you're doing it. You forget, I've worked with Sherlock for nearly six years.'

'And you're still this naive?' Sherlock laughed louder now, nearly knocking the gun flying with his shaking hands.

'It's like working with children. When did it get to this? Right. Scarlet, sit down, and be quiet. I've had just enough of you for one day. I'm going to go talk to John. He's the only sensible person here.'

'You can say that again.' muttered Sherlock. Scarlet, immediatly grasping that he had meant Lestrade, began to snigger quietly from her seat.

'Sherlock, don't encourage her! JOHN! I'M LEAVING YOU IN CHARGE OF THE INFANTS!'

'What?' John emerged from the kitchen, cup of tea in hand, only to find his room-mate, and a small brown haired woman, in fits of noisy laughter. 'What have you two done to Lestrade?'

Sherlock simply smiled.


	4. Chapter 4: The Surgery

**Hello to all of you, just a quick note to say, this chapter is more of a filler, some more in depth into John, Sarah, and the surgery. I know where I'm going with the next few chapters, so, more up soon :D**

The Consulting Detective Jones: Chapter 4

'Oh really? I was under the impression you can't get nicotine stains off of skin.'

'Well, technically you can't, but you can disguise them with a sugar and vinegar solution.'

'Clever. I can see how the sugar acts with the vinegar as a semi corrosive...'

Sherlock and Scarlet were sat at either ends of the tatty, worn out sofa in 221B Baker street,the sounds of midday London traffic roaring from the open window, discussing various processes and events John had never heard of. He decided to make a stealthy attempt at changing the conversation to something he could understand.

'So, Scarlet, what did you do before you were a consulting detective?' He smiled pleasantly, so not to seem nosey or intrusive, just interested. She took a sip of her tea, and smiled back, she knew exactly what he was doing.

'Well, I used to train people to be in the regular police, but saw so many boring people pass through, like one Sally Donovan, so decided to quit. Almost immediately, the police came to me for advice on this and that, thus, I became a consulting detective. Next time you don't understand what we're talking about, just ask. I'm not going to bite your head off.'

Sherlock smirked. 'I might. There's no mistaking, as a doctor, of medicine, you should know these things.' John went a bit pale, looked at his scratched old watch, and jumped from his seat.

'Oh hell...Sarah's going to kill me. I was meant to be at the walk-in surgery half an hour ago. I'm ever so sorry to leave like this...but...I'm going to die if I don't go now. Will you two be ok on your own for a few hours?'

'We're not children John, whatever Lestrade believes.' Both Sherlock and Scarlet started laughing again, and John took this as the perfect opportunity to rush out of the door, grabbing his coat off of the stand in the hall, knocking it flying, cursing loudly, and running down the street, pulling his coat over his arms awkwardly as he did so. The surgery wasn't far from Baker Street, so he didn't really have a valid excuse for Sarah. He was suddenly immensely glad that Sherlock frequently took off sprinting, as it improved his running stamina. As he rounded the corner, he saw Sarah waiting at the doors of the surgery, impatiently tapping her foot.

'Sarah!' He shouted, almost barreling into her, stopping just in time. She raised her eyebrows disapprovingly but pursed her lips into a semi-annoyed smile. He kissed her on the cheek, knowing he was somewhat forgiven.

'Let me guess, there was an important case, like a missing, diamond encrusted hanky, or something like that?' The sarcasm in her voice reminded him that he had two deductive, impulsive, sociopaths in his flat, doing God knows what with the sugar and vinegar. He was sure he would come home to find a jar of neatly pickled toes in the jam cupboard, or something equally as horrible.

'Actually...no. But I'll tell you later. For now, let's get opened up, shall we?' His warm smile melted the semi-cold state her mind was in. She secretly resented Sherlock, because she knew John would always find him more interesting. She watched as he put his key into the side door, and with a soft click, the door opened, a gust of warm air meeting them as they stepped inside. The Baker Street Walk-in medical centre wasn't in the most idyllic of places, right next door to a disused cafe, and on the other side, a musty pet shop, which sold everything except actual pets. They rarely got any 'real' patients, mainly just people with obscure health problems, or kids with traffic cones/saucepans stuck on their heads. Neither of them minded this though, because it meant they could spend almost an entire day together every week.

'Cup of tea?' Sarah shouted to John from the kitchen. He had settled himself at his desk, and was thumbing through the morning newspaper.

'Do we have normal sugar?' laughed John, before realising Sarah wouldn't get the joke.

'Normal sugar? John Watson, you're going mad.' said his girlfriend as she brought two steaming mugs of tea, and a packet of custard creams.

'All I'm going to say is, I found a finger in the sugar this morning.'

'I honestly don't know how you stand it. That man will never find a girl willing to be his girlfriend.' John grinned at Sarah.

'Actually...' Sarah nearly dropped her cup of tea.

'No! You have got to be kidding me...' Her shock was so brilliant, John loved how excited she could get about the simplest things.

'Trust me on this one. She is the female version of Sherlock, in so many ways. She's a consulting detective, like him, and she's such a sociopath. They are absolutely perfect for each other.'

'That is so brilliant! Have they gone on a date or anything yet?'

'Some how, I don't think that's going to appeal to either of them. They are alone together today though...Oh, I don't know. Sherlock does really like her though. He had a proper fit over her. Shot the wall, screamed, the works.'

'Wow...maybe I should meet this girl, make friends with her, give her a push in the right direction...?' Sarah smiled, feigning innocence.

'Sarah, she's a highly intelligent sociopath. Firstly, she doesn't 'do' friends. Secondly, she'll clock what you're up to in a second.'

'Will she?' Sarah smiled devishly, stood up, and walked back into the tiny surgery kitchen. John knew he couldn't stop wherever she was going with this now.


	5. Chapter 5: Truths and Interference

The Consulting Detective Jones: Chapter 5

'Do you mind living with someone like him?' Scarlet was sitting very close to Sherlock now, closer than she'd dared when John was about. She liked their flat. It was more cramped than hers, with piles of paperwork and jottings surrounding her on desks, and cabinets. There were jars of 'things', just lying about, which she, unlike most people, didn't find strange. It was reminiscient of her flat, except she had to keep hers tidy, her mother took great pleasure in 'visiting' at random times, and didn't approve of her habits. She had to at least pretend she had changed, she really didn't want to go back to that psychiatrist. Though tormenting that infernal man gave her great pleasure.

'Not really, he gets boring sometimes though. And he gets finicky about body parts in the fridge.' Sherlock grinned, eyes on hers, they were darting ever so slightly back and forth, analysing her every movement, but she didn't mind, she was doing the exact same to him, and he knew it. 'Have you got a room-mate?'

'No.' She answered all too quickly. 'Room-mates bring...complications. My mother...' She looked awkwardly at her knees.

'Insanely over protective, believes that you're mad? That you need to be institutionalised, but would never admit it?'

'Oh, my mother admits it, regularly. You see, my sister married a 'sociopath', on the outside, much like you or I, but in fact a complete psychopath, and, one night, she wouldn't do as he asked, and he killed her. My mother refuses to accept he was anything more than a sociopath, so when she was told that I 'display sociopathic tendencies and an intriguing obsession with crime', you can imagine what she thought next. So, she checks on me randomly, which makes it hard to hold down a room-mate.' Scarlet looked back up at Sherlock. He was sat silently, looking at her intently.

'Scarlet, you don't show the slightest signs of emotion when talking about your sister...'

'I never knew her. Well I did, but I can't remember. I was only fourteen, so it all kind of disappeared as I 'moved on'. At school, I was always, 'Scarlet with the Murdered Sister'. I got out of there as soon as I could.'

'Where exactly is 'there'?' Now, Sherlock was intrigued. He'd never quite heard something so fascinating.

'Scotland. Near Carlisle. We moved there from...York...I think, not long after the inquiry ended.' She smiled. 'I swear I was the only one even vaguely enjoying myself at that inquiry.'

Sherlock nodded. He knew all too well what it was like to be the only one smiling over a body. He considered what it would be like to have Scarlet around more often. Then, he remembered something he'd picked up on earlier. 'Look, Scarlet, I wanted to ask you something...If you'r still looking for a place to live...' Scarlet became suddenly very aware of the close proximity of their bodies. She knew what was coming next, and wanted to both kiss and kill him for it, but decided to let him finish first.

Suddenly, John burst through the door. 'Sherlock, we need to tidy up. I mean properly, tidy, Sarah's bringing one of her friends over...' He clocked their closeness, and cursed under his breath. He might have just ruined it completely. 'Oh. Was I disturbing something?'

Sherlock turned his head and gave John a horrible look. 'Actually John, I was just asking Scarlet if...' Once again, he was cut off by the entrance of an unexpected visitor.

'John! You didn't tell me Sherlock would be in! Or that he was entertaining!' Sarah smiled at Scarlet.

'Sarah, I'm always entertaining.' He flashed her a quick smile, then motioned to Scarlet. 'This is Scarlet Jones, a friend of mine. She's also a consult...' Mrs Hudson came through the door, closely followed by a tall, skinny, black haired woman. 'Could this place get any more crowded? It's like a circus, only, oddly enough, I'M NOT HAVING FUN.'

Sherlock stood up, stormed out of the door, cursing as he went. Scarlet sighed. 'I suppose I should go after him. After all, he was asking me something important.'

She picked up her coat from the counter, smiled at John, Sarah, Mrs Hudson, and the mystery woman, and said, 'It was lovely to meet you Sarah. I hope to see you at a later date, but for now, next time you want me to go on a date with Sherlock, just ask.' And, with that, she swept from the room.


	6. Chapter 6 : Sprouts

**Thanks again, for your reviews, they REALLY help, Trust me. :D**

The Consulting Detective Jones: Chapter 6

'Sherlock!' She caught up with him quickly, though one of his strides was equal to about three of hers.

'Oh, hello. I thought you would be staying with Sarah, and John, and their friend.' He looked at her quizzically.

'Why on earth would I do that? Sarah brought her for you.'

'I know. I don't get what Sarah was thinking.' Scarlet started laughing.

'What? What's so funny?' Scarlet put her hands in her pockets, and smiled up at Sherlock.

'Sherlock, they were trying to make me jealous, by making me think that gorgeous women were always at your flat.' Sherlock started to chuckle, rubbing his hand against his chin.

'Well I can assure you, they aren't. ' They were almost at the end of Baker Street now, and both were in fits of laughter. Scarlet suddenly shivered. The wind was picking up, creating a harsh chill. 'Are you cold?'

'What? Oh, no...I'm fine...seriously...' Despite her denial, Sherlock stopped, unwound his favourite grey scarf from around his neck, and wrapped it round her smaller, more delicate neck. This was the first time they'd really, touched. Granted, they had kissed like the world was ending the day they met, but skin had never lingered quietly on skin, and it sent sparks through her body. Sherlock however, savoured the touch of her soft neck, it was like brushed cotton.

'There.' He took a step back and admired his 'handiwork'. 'Looks much better on you.'

'Thanks. It's very warm.' He looked down at her, grinning. 'Do you want to come over to my place, so we can finish what we were talking about, before the interruptions?'

'That would be great. You still look cold. Here.' He put his arm around her shoulder, and pulled her closer into his body. Scarlet was surprised, but she liked the closeness.

* * *

It was almost half an hour later when they arrived at her much larger apartment. Scarlet took Sherlocks coat, threw it over the hat stand, and walked to the open kitchen.

'Cup of Tea? Coffee? Nicotine Patch?' She smiled as she said the last one, leaning teasingly over the stone island.

'A cup of tea would be great.' He slumped down onto a the purple sofa. 'Don't make fun of my vices Miss Jones. You are hardly the one to be judging a nicotine addiction.'

She smirked. 'There is nothing wrong with a bit of stimulation, Mr Holmes. Besides, we both know you've dabbled in something a little bit more than nicotine in the past.'

'I'm going to kill Lestrade. That loud-mouthed police dog...' Sherlock scowled, as she handed him a mug of tea, smiling. She then proceeded to sit down next to him.

'Lestrade didn't tell me. Lovely Miss Donavan did. Though I'm surprised she still hasn't recognised me.' He very nearly spat out a whole mouthful of tea.

'What? You know Donavan?'

'Sherlock, I trained her to be a police officer.' Scarlet sighed heavily. 'She was so promising, had so much intuition, but it seems the years have changed her.'

'Donavan, with intuition? Thats like a sprout with a personality.'


	7. Chapter 7: Interruption

**Something happened with my last chapter, it was in fact several paragraphs longer, so this chapter is marginally shorter, to get the plot back to where I wanted Chapter 6 to end. SORRY :)**

The Consulting Detective Jones: Chapter 7

Even though Sherlock had known Scarlet Jones for a mere three days, there was one thing she despised, and that, was when pointless things got in the way. She absolutely hated it. He had been listening intently for nearly an hour about 'The Origin of Donavan', and how she let emotional stupidity prevent her from being a great police officer. He, of course, agreed whole-heartily that she had turned into a slowly collapsing mess of nerves.

'So, you wanted to ask me something?' Scarlet returned from the kitchen with fresh cups of tea, and a packet of nicotine gum. She handed Sherlock his cup, drank a sip of her tea, and threw the packet of nicotine gum into her coat pocket. Her aim was impressive, seeing as her coat was hanging by the door, a good two metres away.

'Actually, yes.' He put down his cup, and stood so he could look her square in the eye, despite the height difference. He could hear her breathing, soft and measured, like a small child. She was searching his face for some kind of sign she was wrong. She wasn't.

'We have a spare room at our flat. Move in to 221B with us.' His eyes were bright, but serious. He meant this.

'Sherlock, I barely know you...'

'Does it matter? I'd known John less than 24 hours before he moved in.'

'John. Won't he mind?' She was deliberately avoiding answering him. And, boy, did he know it.

'I doubt he'll care. He's been carrying around an engagement ring for nearly a month now, so unless he's going to propose to me, I don't think he'll be living with me much longer. Trivialities anyhow.'

'But...' His eyes blazed, his expression changing. She was being deliberately evasive, and he needed an answer. He felt he would burst if she didn't answer him, immediately.

'Scarlet, for God's sake! Answer me. Besides, what other options do you have?' Then, at possibly the most inconvenient moment, Sherlock's mobile began to ring loudly. He flipped it open. 'Bloody Hell Lestrade, what do you want?'

She could feel the tension building. She wanted to lie on the floor, eat two or three packets of nicotine gum, and just think, but right now, she had a question to answer. She saw his eyes dart from side to side quickly as he listened to Lestrade tell him more facts about the current case, saw how his hands clenched almost simultaneously with each faint buzz of speech, and she recognised something. The hidden frustration at everything. The anger at the rest of the stupid, blind world. And suddenly, her mind was made up. She took a deep breath, and said, quite loudly,

'Yes, I'll move in with you.' Sherlock stopped pacing. He looked directly at her, snapped his phone shut, and threw it to the side. He strode across the room, and crushed his lips to hers, taking her wavy brown hair into his hands as he did. The kiss deepened, their proper first kiss. It was not like the kiss at the crime scene not so rushed or lustful. Just pure happiness.

'We better start packing your things then.' smiled Sherlock, pressing his forehead to hers, stroking her face with the back of his hand.

'In a minute.' She kissed him again, laughing slightly as she did so, putting her arms around his neck.

The door flew open.

'Scarlet Beatrice Jones! What on earth do you think you're doing?' And, just like that, they were interrupted again.


	8. Chapter 8: Tea and Toast

**Greetings to all, sorry it's been SO long, but I had trouble deciding who the 'interruption' would be. Enjoy ;) As always, PLEASE review.**

The Consulting Detective Jones: Chapter 8

'Scarlet Beatrice Jones! What on earth do you think you're doing?' The words ricocheted around the room, as Scarlet practically jumped out of Sherlock's arms. A blush crept up her face, and she opened her mouth to speak. The older, sharp featured woman at the door cut across, completely oblivious.

'Honestly! I leave you alone for a week, and you repay my trust by throwing yourself at...men.' She said 'men' like it was a disgusting word, one she couldn't stand to say, and Scarlet rolled her eyes.

'Mother...' Sherlock spluttered. This irritating woman, was Scarlet's mother. They were so different. Scarlet was small, with feathery, curled brown hair and bright blue, deductive eyes, and her mother was tall, and bony, with black hair shot with grey, and piercing green eyes. Scarlet was Fire, and her mother, was Ice. 'Don't be so uptight, for gods sake, we're in a small apartment, not bloody Buckingham Palace.'

'You could at least introduce him to me. You know how I worry.' She raised her eyebrows, whilst taking in his appearance. She tutted quietly under her breath.

'Fine.' Scarlet threw Sherlock a pained look. 'This, mother, is Sherlock Holmes. He's a consulting detective, like me.' Sherlock smiled as sincerely as possible, and shook her hand. 'Sherlock, this is Iris Jones, my mother.'

'A pleasure to meet you Mrs. Jones. Scarlet and I were just discussing the details of a case...'

'Mr Holmes.' She cut across. 'Old I may be, but stupid I am not.' She gave him a warning look, then turned back to her daughter, who was nervously tidying. 'Scarlet dear, have you found yourself a new place to live yet?'

Silence echoed in the apartment. Scarlet began to stammer something about rent, but Sherlock put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and reeled off quite possibly the most convincing lie Scarlet had ever heard. Quite simply because it was almost true.

'Scarlet is currently discussing a flat on Baker Street with a friend of mine, Mrs. Hudson. She's old you see, and rents out her upstairs flats and her basement. A Mr. Watson lives in one, so the other is free for lease. I was just bringing the details round for Scarlet, so she could contact Mrs. Hudson.' He grinned, and stepped backwards towards the kitchen. 'I'll make some tea.' Scarlet smiled. she knew that living in 221B was one of the best decisions she had ever made, especially if she ever needed an alibi, god forbid. She looked around her current apartment, already packing her boxes in her mind.

* * *

Two mornings later, John was sat in the living room of 221B, eating a bowl of cereal in his pajamas. He was surprised that neither Scarlet nor Sherlock was awake, it was late for Sherlock, and Scarlet had woken at four the previous morning, simply because she needed to think. She puzzled John, but so long as she got on with Sherlock, it was ok with him. God help us if they ever fall out, he thought, laughing quietly. He was aware they were more 'together' than before, but he was unsure as to the extent. Just then, almost in response to his mental question, Scarlet emerged into the kitchen from Sherlock's bedroom.

'Morning John.' She said, pouring herself some tea, and sitting down on a stool. 'Did you sleep well?' he noticed she was wearing one of Sherlocks shirts,and nothing much else, not quite buttoned to above her collar bone. He could see the lines of her underwear, and her hair was ruffled up madly at the back. all signs pointed to one thing, but if living with Sherlock had taught him anything, never believe the obvious.

'Yeah, like a log. Yourself?' She was loading the toaster now, putting two slices in, and watching intently as they popped out. It seemed like forever before she spoke again.

'Yes, I slept well. It's still a bit weird, adjusting to a new place, new surrounding noises...' She turned around to face him as she spoke, head down, buttering the toast on the table with one hand, whilst rotating the other with her words, illustrating herself.

'Sherlocks bed...' said John, imitating her hand gestures with his spoon. She froze. John realised that at this point, believing the obvious was exactly what he should do.

'John, that, is the most ridiculous thing I have heard in a long time.' She spun theatrically, smiling, plate of toast in hand, and padded back into Sherlock's room. John laughed.

'Uh, Scarlet? Wrong room.' shouted John.

'I'm aware of which room I'm in John. Do give me some credit.' John grinned. She certainly was something.

'John?' Came Sherlock's voice, sounding weary.

'Yes? Do you kids need some advice?'

'Shut up, or I will ask you all sorts of awkward questions. Just bring me my phone, would you?'

'I am not your butler Sherlock.'

'God, you sound like Mrs. Hudson. Just do it.' John sighed, put his bowl on the table, picked up the phone and walked into room.

'What...on...this...planet possessed you two to staple toast to the wall?' It seemed that seeing really wasn't believing after all.

'Experiment.' They both muttered in unison, snuggled on his bed. It was going to be a long day. John could just feel it.


	9. Chapter 9: The Museum

The Consulting Detective Jones: Chapter 9

After removing the 22 slices of buttered toast from Sherlock's bedroom wall, despite both Sherlock and Scarlet protesting greatly over being, A. hauled out of bed, and B. made to remove their 'experiment' from the wall, they had all gotten dressed, washed, and John had thrown them into the back of a London cab. He could see what Lestrade had meant. They were decending into the depths of infancy. Even now, Sherlock was staring at the soft roof of the cab, tapping his foot impatiently, whilst Scarlet was rummaging in her pockets for, he assumed, a packet of nicotine gum. They were finally being allowed into the Natural History Museum, after being denied access the previous two days. The case was the first robbery Sherlock had been given in a while. He was usually too tied down with murders and/or psychopaths to bother with theft, but this instance was intriguing. Two artefacts, seemingly un-related, had been stolen: a brontosaurus rib, and a rare type of igneous rock. It was the most unusual robbery he had been to in quite some time.

'John, do we know who our team is today?' said Scarlet suddenly. She hadn't spoken to John in nearly two hours.

'The usual, Lestrade, Smith...' he paused. 'Anderson and Donavan.'

'Great. Just fabulous. Nicotine withdrawal, no mould experimentation, and now, bloody Donavan. We might as well plan my funeral now.'

'More like Donavan's funeral.' muttered John, and Sherlock glared silently at him. Now he was in 'work mode', the cheerful, happy-go-lucky Sherlock had faded, and the serious, brooding Sherlock had returned. He silently reached into his pocket, and pulled out a nicotine patch. He grabbed Scarlet's arm, rolled up her sleeve before she could protest, peeled it open, and slapped it gently onto her inner arm.

'There. That should keep you sane until at least midday.' He flashed a quick smile at her, and the cab came to a slow stop. Lestrade was at the gates to meet them. He was somewhat surprised at the arrival of the two detectives together. As they walked, he attempted to question them.

'Did you two pick Jones up on the way?'

'No.' came the withering response from Sherlock.

'No? She spent the night...with one of you?'

'Yes. She lives with us.'

'Christ Holmes. You move fast. What did you do, drug her?' came the sarcastic voice of Donavan, who had been eavesdropping on their conversation from behind.

'Thats no way to talk about your training officer Donavan. Tell Anderson he should hire a maid, making you do it just isn't fair.' Sherlock never broke his stride, even as he disappeared to go and examine the igneous rock cabinet.

'T...training officer? What on earth...?'

' Detective Inspector Scarlet Jones, of New East London Constabulary. Surprised you didn't recognise me Miss Donanvan.' Scarlet turned to smile at Sally. Sally's heart missed a beat. This, was the woman she once feared? The amazing officer who had trained her, was dating the Freak?

'Always knew you were a psychopath...poor Johnny, having to live with two psychos.' Her venomous tongue returned.

'I'm a sociopath. There is a difference.'

Anderson stepped forward. 'You aren't if you're dating Holmes.' She glanced quickly to John, making sure he was out of earshot.

'I'm not 'dating' Sherlock. He's a hollow release for my personal stress.' She stalked towards Anderson, pushing him against a wall. 'If you think I care for him, you are very much mistaken. The man bears no significance to me. He is just another man, another bed, another experiment. Nothing more.' She stepped back.

She was right, John hadn't been in earshot of her 'speech', but Sherlock had. And his mind was burning.


	10. Chapter 10: A Note

**Hello to you all. Sorry it's been a while, but family etc got in the way a bit...but ho-hum, here it is now...**

The Consulting Detective Jones: Chapter 10

'Miss Jones, Can you come and assist me please?' shouted Sherlock from his within earshot position. His mind was working on overdrive, desperately trying to deduce his way out of this situation.

'No. I'm not your assistant. I do not assist. I will however look over the crime scene and see if there's anything you have missed.' returned a still slightly frazzled Scarlet. She wasn't sure who had heard her outburst, but she wanted to, as she didn't mean the things she said. Yet, at the same time, she did. She was beginning to wish she hadn't taken this job. It had become far too complicated, too dangerous.

She smiled at him, and strode confidently towards the cabinet he'd just been examining. Her smile faded, her eyes flashed with a familiar concentration, and she was deducing. He watched her intently as she ran her fingers along the grooves in the glass, down the side of the wood, to the floor, and back up the other side. She drew in her breath quickly when she reached about halfway up the glass with her hands.

'Lestrade! Is there a key to this thing?' Her eyes never left the cabinet.

'Yeah. Here, catch!' The police inspector tossed a small metal key, roughly, towards Scarlet. She whipped about, raised her hand, and caught it perfectly. 'Bloody Hell...how did she do that?'

'Shh.' muttered Sherlock. 'She's on to something.'

He was right. She unlocked the cabinet, reached inside, and gently removed each rock, one by one, until it was empty. The museum fell silent, watching with eager eyes to see her next action.

'Sherlock, hand me something sharp but strong.' She held her hand out behind her, and he passed her a fire poker that was leaning against a nearby wall. 'You might want to stand back.'

She took three steps back, closed her eyes, muttered something under her breath, and ran at the cabinet full pelt. She thrust the poker through the PVC backboard, splitting it in two. She smiled, but only slightly, something barely noticeable, before tearing into the backboard like a woman possessed.

'Oh God.' She turned around and began to walk towards the others. 'I'll see you all...later, I've got...things to do. Important things. Goodbye.' As soon as she was past them, she broke into a run, rushing out the gates and away down the busy street.

'Where the hell is she going?' shouted Lestrade, raising his arms in the air. 'Sherlock? Any idea?'

The detective was silent. He looked into the cabinet, and examined the contents of the backboard comparment. Inside, was a pair of black leather gloves, the stolen items, a small heart locket, and a note, which read,

_I know your secret, Scarlet Jones._


	11. Chapter 11: Secrets

**Hey! *waves to tiny group of people* Sorry again, but I got all caught up in another part of the Sherlock/Scarlet story...that happens later on :P Enjoy.**

The Consulting Detective Jones: Chapter 11

It was time for fight or flight. She had been discovered. And right now, she was choosing flight.

She ran from the museum grounds. She didn't stop, didn't slow down, for anything or anyone. Not Lestade's shouting. Not Anderson's threats. She was Scarlet Jones. She was unstoppable. Unbreakable. Undetectable. Until today.

Her mind raced alongside her feet. She could see the headline now. 'British Secret Service Agent Revealed!'

Familiar streets flashed past her. She was suddenly thankful for her stamina training. A normal person wouldn't have kept going this long. Couldn't have kept going this far. Except, perhaps...

Sherlock. What would he think? What would he do? Had she made a mistake, getting this involved already? She had done more intimate missions in the past, for gods sake, she was one of the best in the business. But when Mycroft Holmes had approached her with this...something had felt wrong.

Damn Mycroft. This was all his fault. If he had chosen damn 'angela' over her, like always, she wouldn't now have this problem. She knew as well as anyone though, that Mycroft didn't send Angela on operations, because he had a soft spot for her, and couldn't bear to see her hurt.

She turned down a familiar street. So familiar. Too many memories were harboured in the solitary office building on this street.

Flight. Flight had brought her here. The very place this whole thing started. The very place she dreaded. The very person she didn't want to see, waiting for her inside. She opened the door.

* * *

'I just think that the locket is more relevant than just a glance!' John and Sherlock were sat in the museum coutyard. Sherlock was examining the note. John was absent mindedly turning the locket over in his hands.

'John, I'm not in the mood for a domestic. And stop fiddling with that, its distracting.'

'Sherlock I...' John stopped mid sentence, as the locket snapped open in his hands, with a loud click.

'John Watson, I don't say this often, so don't expect it, but, I think you're right.'

The doctor laid the gold heart, now 'broken' as such, onto the table. On the inside of one segment, was a stern looking picture of Scarlet, which looked slightly younger than its living counterpart, and on the other, a 7 digit numeric code was inscribed. Sherlock's face blanched as his blood ran cold.

'I get why there's a picture, but what are those numbers? I recognise the picture from somewhere too...'

'She...It can't be true...she wouldn't be... but...her physique... her manner...' He was standing by now, hands caging his ears in a wild action, perfetly personifying the conflict in his mind.

'Sherlock, what is it?'

'She's not quite a pavement walker...no...too personal for that...chameleons don't get involved...not a military operative...not really hardened enough, but she has been before, judging by the picture...John! You recognised the picture. From where?'

'Uh...not quite sure. My army years I think...early on...'

'When you were a guard to those files?'

'Yes! We had to memorise certain ID pictures, those with granted access, mainly secret service, or so we presumed...Oh...my...God. Scarlet is a...'

' An agent. An ex military Situation Artist. She's an operative with Her Majesty's Secret Service.'


	12. Author's Note and A Preview

**Just a quick note to say...**

**Hey everyone! Sorry it's taken me such a long time to get this put up, but...That's how this part of the story ends. **

**There WILL be a sequel, but for now, I'm going to concentrate on some different Fanfics, and I have exams coming up.**

**Below is a preview, for all you impatient people, of the sequel :)**

**Thanks to you all,**

**SequoiaScarlet**

* * *

'Miss Jones! You simply cannot enter Mr Holmes' office without an appointment.' Anthea protested from her desk, but Scarlet was done with all this.

'Anthea. Listen to me very carefully.' Her voice was quiet. She leaned across the desk, eyes blazing with something dark and dangerous. Anthea gasped. 'I am going into Mr Holmes' office. And if you even so much as think about trying to stop me with your pathetic self defence techniques, I will kill you.'

'But...' Scarlet grabbed the collar of Anthea's shirt and pulled her face very close.

'I have a license. It would be completly legal. No questions asked.' She released the startled P.A from her grasp and threw open the door to Mycroft Holmes' office.

'Ah, Scarlet, I see you're on the warpath again. What has my brother done now?' There he was, calm as ever. It was enough to make her sick.

'This ends now.' She clenched her fists, bracing herself for some kind of attack, she knew it would be coming. Mycroft would have pressed some secret button, and men would be on their way. He wouldn't go for her himself. He never got his hands dirty. And, sure enough, here they were. She felt strong hands on each of her shoulders. 'Oh, this, is just too easy.'

'Oh, is it?' Mycroft smiled in a way that was almost malicious, as Sherlock and John burst through the door. Scarlet knew, that now was when it all went to hell.


End file.
